Not With a Bang but a Whimper
by yassandra
Summary: Sometimes in the still of the night he knows there's no way he can save the city no matter what the Oracle says. This destiny is just too big for one man. And every time a storm lashes them he wonders "Is this it? Is this the beginning of the end?"


A/N This story been written for Round 6 of Bingo on the Hurt/Comfort LJ community, to incorporate the prompt 'natural disasters'. I hope you enjoy it :-)

* * *

 _ **Not With a Bang but a Whimper**_

 _This is the way the world ends_

 _This is the way the world ends_

 _This is the way the world ends_

 _Not with a bang but a whimper_

 _(The Hollow Men – T S Elliot)_

* * *

Sometimes in the still of the night he knows there's no way he can save the city no matter what the Oracle says. This destiny is just too big for one man. And every time a storm lashes them he wonders "Is this it? Is this the beginning of the end?"

Storms have never frightened him – there is a majestic beauty to the sheer raw power of a bolt of lightning – and once he would have sat in the window of his home watching the storm raging overhead, or more likely stood out on the cliffs watching the lightning hitting the sea with the sort of sound and light show that no mere firework display could ever hope to recreate.

Now though he cannot sleep through a storm; sits at the table in the kitchen in the dark of the night and imagines the flood waters rising all around them; violent waves cracking stone and sweeping everything away with its power; lightning striking the Temple, the fires burning high into the sky; earthquakes felling men and walls and statuary alike, tumbling them into a shattered heap to be swept away by the uncaring waves. There goes Hercules, bobbing past, still sleeping in his bed (and it should be an amusing image but it isn't because this is Atlantis and one day the nightmare might just become a reality); here comes Pythagoras, mouth open in his surprise, ink-stained fingers grasping at whatever seems permanent, trying desperately to just hold on to something, failing and being swept away. Even in his dreams Jason just can't seem to make his arms work quickly enough to grab his friend.

The worst dreams, though, are the ones where he manages to catch hold of Hercules or Pythagoras (or even occasionally Ariadne – beautiful girl, long hair fanning out in the water, floating on her back like that painting of Ophelia he saw once on a school trip to London, dragged around the Tate unwillingly by an over-enthusiastic art teacher) only to have them slip from his grasp like sand through a sieve, gone in a second, leaving him achingly alone.

It's enough to drive him from his restless sleep; waking gasping for breath and drenched in sweat and having to check on both his friends just to make sure that they are still here. Tonight the storm has been worse than ever and so the nightmares have been worse than ever and he has stumbled (still half blind with sleep and tunic wringing wet) from his bed and over to his friends' chambers (desperately needing to see them for just a moment – to ensure that they are unharmed) tripping clumsily over anything in his path, all pretence of grace and finesse deserting him, but trying to keep quiet so that he won't disturb either of them.

Pythagoras sleeps the sleep of the just; still and peaceful. He lies on his side facing away from the curtain that separates his chamber from the rest of the house, his soft breathing seeming incredibly loud in the silence of the night, although in reality he makes almost no noise. Jason stands there for a few minutes, reassuring himself that everything is well before turning and stumbling back across the room towards Hercules' chamber.

Hercules snores like a congested grizzly bear, his sleep made heavy once again by an excess of alcohol (and really he wonders if they ought to be trying to get the big man to cut back a bit; has heard of the horrors of what too much alcohol can do to a body and worries about the damage his friend might be inflicting upon his own liver). Every so often he mutters unintelligible words in his sleep – although Jason thinks he caught a "Medusa" and possibly a "pies". No noise that anyone could make will wake him right now – something that Jason is rather grateful for given how loud the crash was when he tripped over a stool and fell into Hercules' door a few moments ago.

He closes Hercules' door carefully and quietly, absently rubbing the shoulder that he banged on the doorframe when he fell and feels the bruise that's beginning to develop (the sharp ache that by morning will have faded to nothing unless it is prodded), and leans against it for a moment, trying to separate nightmare from reality in his sleep addled mind.

Thunder crashes outside, perilously close and frighteningly loud, and he spins to stare wide eyed at the balcony, breath panting and hand fluttering somewhere in the vicinity of his heart as he tries to calm its frantic pounding – and he wonders: is this the storm that will end it all?

Sleep will not come again tonight – or at least not until the storm has abated – and the true peace of deep sleep is most definitely beyond his grasp. He turns back to face the room and nearly jumps out of his skin once again when he sees Pythagoras sitting calmly at the table, pouring two cups of water. The mathematician smiles, although his eyes are concerned, and he waves Jason over with one friendly hand, gesturing for his friend to take a seat and pushing one of the cups of water towards him.

"When I was a child," Pythagoras says, "our neighbours had a dog. It was a harmless little thing but it barked a lot; made a lot of noise – and I was terrified of it. I would try to convince myself that I was not really afraid but it did little good. The dog would bark and I would hide."

A flash of lightning lights up the room, the thunder coming hard on its heels and telling everyone who is awake at this late hour that the storm is directly overhead. Jason flinches without really being aware that he's doing it; tensing with every thunderclap.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he apologises, painfully aware that this is hardly the first time that Pythagoras has sat up through a storm with him when the mathematician could have been in bed sleeping.

Pythagoras' mouth turns up at the corners.

"It is hard to sleep with all this noise going on," he remarks. "Besides it has become something of a ritual."

Jason flinches again, although it has little to do with the weather this time and more to do with the guilt he is feeling at disturbing Pythagoras' sleep.

"Sorry," he mutters.

"Do not be," Pythagoras answers. "I have come to enjoy our discussions on stormy nights and they are infrequent enough. Now what shall we talk of tonight?"

Jason shrugs. He is not playing his part this evening and he knows it – is not fulfilling his role – but the storm outside is the worst there has been since he arrived in Atlantis and is commanding all his attention, his imagination going into overdrive as he thinks of all the "what ifs".

Pythagoras gives a little frown; a down turning at the corners of his mouth.

"You have never told me why you dislike storms so much," he says lightly. "Not that it matters," he hurries on. "After all we all have things we are afraid of. Hercules, for instance, has an irrational fear of birds."

"Birds!" Jason says incredulously. "You're kidding!"

"Particularly ducks," Pythagoras confirms with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "He often has an irrational recurring dream of being chased by a flock of ducks."

Jason can't help the snigger of laughter that escapes him as the mental image of a small fluffy duckling chasing Hercules springs to mind. Then the thunder rolls again and he tenses involuntarily.

Pythagoras sighs.

"There is no shame in fear," he says comfortingly.

"I'm not afraid of storms," Jason protests. "It's… something else," he finishes lamely, all too aware that he cannot tell Pythagoras just why thunder and lightning disturb him so much without revealing the fate of the city; cannot tell his friend that while he doesn't really fear the storm he _does_ fear losing everything; fears losing the people who he has come to love; fears that if the waves do eventually take Atlantis it will somehow be his fault.

Perhaps the fate of Atlantis is inevitable. Perhaps, in spite of the Oracle's words, it has never been his destiny to save it (and really who can understand _half_ of what the woman says anyway?). Perhaps he is merely here to bear witness to what is to come. But he'll be damned before he lets anything happen to his friends; to Ariadne. He's challenged the Gods before and he will again in a heartbeat if it means he has the chance to save those he loves.

Pythagoras looks at him seriously, plainly trying to decide whether to press the subject or change it. Jason risks a smile that he doesn't feel; the skin pulling tightly across his face, uncomfortably; trying to hide behind the innocuous expression that has served him so well in the past. He knows that it won't entirely work but he hopes that he can use it to distract Pythagoras while he changes the subject himself; steers the conversation away from his reaction to inclement weather. He knows that if Pythagoras keeps asking sooner or later he will have to make up a reason for his apparently irrational fear to mask the true reasons; that he will have to lie to his friend to protect Pythagoras from the knowledge of what may be to come and the awkward but inevitable questions about the source of his knowledge. Lying to Pythagoras is not high on his to do list so evading the conversation at all seems the best bet.

"So what happened with the dog?" he asks, trying to keep his tone light.

"What dog?" Pythagoras sounds confused.

"Your neighbour's dog," Jason answers. "When you were a child."

"Oh," Pythagoras says. "I don't actually remember," he admits. "It disappears in my memory at around the time my father died. Perhaps it too passed away or perhaps it just ceased to be so important to me… stopped being something that I feared." He shoots Jason an acute look. "The point I was trying to make," he adds, "is that sometimes we fear things for reasons that even we cannot understand. Things that other people would find innocuous."

"I'm not afraid of storms," Jason protests again.

He toys with his cup and finds his resolve to keep his silence wavering in the face of Pythagoras' open caring; the mathematician's earnest blue eyes asking questions that Jason isn't really sure he can answer.

"Do you ever worry that your best won't be good enough?" he asks quickly before he can chicken out.

"What do you mean?" Pythagoras asks with a frown.

"That you're going to let everyone down," Jason answers. "That the people you care for are going to be hurt because your best just wasn't quite good enough. That if the worst happens it will be your fault." He swallows hard and presses on. "When I first came here the Oracle told me that it was my destiny to end the people's fear and suffering," he admits.

"And you killed the Minotaur," Pythagoras points out. "You _did_ put an end to the fear and suffering of the people. We no longer have to send seven of our citizens to their deaths in tribute to the beast."

"Yeah," Jason says, "but the Oracle still keeps on telling me that it's my destiny – my fate – to rescue Atlantis. That my purpose in life is to save the city and its people." He looks at Pythagoras with burning eyes. "I don't fear storms," he says. "But their sheer power does disturb me. I fear that I'm going let everyone down. That whatever comes will be too powerful and I won't be able to do anything to stop it. You and Hercules… you're the best friends I've ever had… the only true friends I've ever really had… and I'm afraid of losing you; of losing everything I have here."

Pythagoras blows out an explosive breath.

"That is a powerful destiny indeed," he says.

"I feel its weight," Jason responds. "Sometimes it feels like it's crushing me."

"It is a heavy burden," Pythagoras ventures. "But it is not a burden which you have to bear alone."

"It's my burden to bear," Jason protests. "You shouldn't have to deal with it… and you certainly shouldn't have to suffer because of it… and what I fear the most is that you will. That you or Hercules will be hurt – or worse – because I wasn't quick enough, or good enough, or I missed something important."

"As you have said we are your friends," Pythagoras murmurs. "If this truly is your destiny then you will not face it alone." His tone is decisive. "I will not allow it. We will stand together no matter what." He raises an eyebrow at his friend. "You say that you fear that either Hercules or I will be hurt… do you not think that I worry about you just as much as you worry about me?"

Jason opens his mouth to answer and then closes it again with a snap, blinking in surprise, because actually no he hadn't thought that either of his friends would worry about him.

Pythagoras looks at him with exasperated fondness and shakes his head.

"Jason I love you but you really can be an idiot," he says, amusement lacing his tone. "Of course I worry about you – we both do." He pauses. "This is a very deep and serious conversation for this late hour," he remarks. "I would suggest that we should both have a cup of wine but I fear that Hercules has drunk it all."

"When hasn't he?" Jason answers, rolling his eyes.

Pythagoras seems to consider this for a moment.

"Good point," he agrees.

"Hercules _always_ drains the wine skin," Jason adds. "It can't be good for him though… The amount he drinks I mean."

Pythagoras sighs.

"He is still grieving for Medusa," he says softly. "Things will grow better as time passes… you will see."

"Medusa isn't dead," Jason protests.

"No," Pythagoras answers morosely, "but until we can find a cure – one that does not involve Hercules sacrificing himself – she may as well be. He cannot look on her and she will not allow him to come too close for fear that her curse will harm him."

Jason looks away, not wanting to continue this conversation, knowing where it might lead. Unfortunately for him Pythagoras is far too perceptive for his own good.

"What is it?" the mathematician says.

"It's my fault," Jason mumbles. "If I'd just got back here a bit quicker…"

"We all ran back as quickly as quickly as we could," Pythagoras answers. "You are no more to blame than any one of us… or Medusa for that matter."

"It wasn't Medusa's fault," Jason protests.

"No," Pythagoras agrees, "and it was not your fault either."

Jason bites his lip, knowing what he can never confess – that he _knew_ what would happen to Medusa in the end; that he knew what would become of her and had been powerless to stop it. Somehow he can't help thinking that he should have found a way; that if he'd just done _something_ Medusa would have been spared her curse and Hercules would be happy now.

"But if I'd just…" he trails off into nothing.

"Now you really _are_ being an idiot," Pythagoras snaps sharply. "If you had run a little faster; if Medusa had not opened the box; if we had kept her with us in the fight with Kyros instead of sending her back here; if you and Hercules had not gone to Tartarus; if Hercules had not borrowed money and accrued gambling debts. The world is made up of ifs, buts and maybes. There are things that we would all change if we could but what is done is done. We must live in the present and not the past… nor the future," he added giving his friend a sharp look.

Jason snorts.

"You're right," he admits. "But it isn't always that easy. Sometimes I dream of Atlantis being destroyed; of earthquakes and tidal waves; of fire and flood; of everyone dying… drowning. It's worse on nights like this."

"And that is when you come to check that we are both safe in our beds," Pythagoras says with a smile.

"How do you…?"

Pythagoras' smile broadens, affectionate and not mocking; not judgemental in the slightest.

"I am used to waking up when Hercules stumbles home from the tavern," he answers. "I have done so for many years… if only to make sure that he does not pass out on the floor again. You are far quieter than him but my ears are attuned to pick up anyone moving around when they should be asleep."

"I'm sorry," Jason murmurs, flushing at the thought of disturbing his friend's rest with his night-time prowling.

"Do not be silly," Pythagoras answers affectionately. "I would not have it any other way."

"So Hercules is afraid of ducks?" Jason asks, trying once more to change the subject to something lighter, less serious.

"Indeed," Pythagoras answers with a quiet chuckle. "Let me tell you about the time he ended up on the roof because of a duck."

The thunder gives one final quiet rumble, far from the city now. It goes unacknowledged by the two young men deep in Pythagoras' amusing tale. One day Atlantis may well be destroyed; may well sink beneath the uncaring waves. But for now the storm has moved on.


End file.
